The InGen Incident
by Goslin
Summary: I'm sorry to everyone who was enjoying this story, but it will not be updated until November due to hurricane Katrina. I lived in New Orleans. I have limited internet access. Thank you, and my sincere apology.
1. Alan Grant

WHEN IT RAINS

When it rains in the badlands, it pours. That was one reason Alan Grant didn't like digging

in Montana. He had other reasons, too, but they were more personal. He was born in Montana, and the prospect of staying here for his entire career seemed unappealing. The badlands, however, were far different from the place where he'd grown up. No matter where you went in this state, it was always basically the same; gas station, restaurant, homes, twenty miles...except the badlands. It was like that old saying, 'one man's dirt is another man's treasure.' The badlands were Alan Grant's treasure. When he looked out into the barren horizon, seeing yellow soil and desolate plants (a landscape Leone would have died for), he saw a time long, long ago, when there weren't cacti. In fact, his research suggested that there had been a river, a huge river that might have rivaled the Mississippi, running right through the north badlands. If it had rained back then, thought Grant, the entire area would have flooded. But what with the theories of constant warming and what not, who knows if it even rained here then? Maybe that river had once been the Nile of Montana. _He _knew science would _never _know.

Well, at least, not in his lifetime. It took forever for things to happen in science. It seemed like it wasn't happening in anyone's lifetime; Grant was thirty-eight, rugged and carefree, teaching paleontology at the University of Denver. Famous for giving lectures in jeans and sneakers, Grant's favorite classroom was the sun-beaten badlands of Montana. However, ever dedicated to his own research, from about 1985 on, he only took a handful graduate students and a few post docs. It was well known that you had to be good to get into a class taught by Alan Grant. He was the best.

Grant imagined that when it rained in the badlands in the Jurassic era, it would have been beautiful. He only wished he could have seen it. "Dr. Grant?" A voice broke him away from his vision.

"Dr. Graaannntt!" Grant spun on his heels, a brunette, barrel chested man of nearly forty. "Yes...Jamal!" he said, recognizing his student. "What's up?"

"Aw, Alan, it's that damn computer again!"

"I hate computers," Grant mumbled. He began walking with Jamal to the tepee where they kept all electronic devices. The computer was a new addition. Technically, all the equipment they kept in here was some kind of computer, but the bulky gray box in the corner was 'the computer'.

"What do I do with these samples if the comp's not working?"pleaded the graduate softly, looking up to his mentor with bright eyes.

"Well, there's some litmus paper in the back," Grant nodded, pointing in the other direction, "you could always do it the old fashioned way."

"Maannn, nobody's done that since James Taylor had hair!"

"Yeah, I know."

THE LEGENDARY ALAN GRANT

Ellie Sattler worked the late shift at Jodi's Interplanetary Restaurant from 8-10:00 pm. It was actually a homey little vegetarian restaurant outside of Hammond. It was run by a demented woman in her late fifties who went by the name Laura Michelle Phipher. Phipher was rude, and strange. But in a lot of ways, she was like a hard boiled grandma. Ellie actually enjoyed working here, though her inner motives were kept a distant secret from her colleagues. She really liked working here because Dr. Alan Grant came here every other Monday with his research group. She knew Alan was the tall one with the brown hair. A few times, he had come in here with a beard. Today was a Monday. Not only could she not remember if it was the right Monday, but it was raining. The group had skipped a couple of times due to rain. Oh, well, she thought as she heard an "Excuse me, miss" behind her. Back to work.

It wasn't one whole minute later when Grant slipped in the door without Ellie noticing. He sat at the table near where she was waiting. He enjoyed talking to her. Ellie was very smart. Ellie was a fairly tall, thin woman, with darkly tanned skin and long blond hair that she pulled into an unceremonious ponytail. She gave off an exuberance that came with being twenty two. Clad in jean shorts, a tee shirt, and sneakers, she could have been working for Grant.

Grant watched as Ellie went behind the swinging double doors that led to the kitchen. Grant came here every other Monday with his research group, composed of two other people besides himself; Drs. Hotran and Evans. Hotran was about fifty, white haired, and hot tempered; known for his crudeness to the graduate students. He appeared to hate them, but, then again, he would be seen joking with a few of them. Evans was a painfully thin man of forty five, balding and extremely precise, with a slight stutter and huge glasses.

The restaurant itself was fairly luxurious, but homey. Very clean, unlike most restaurants around the same area. On the wall opposite him was a giant plastic fish, though he'd never seen seafood served here.

A minute or so later, Ellie reappeared from behind the swinging doors carrying a tray. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she winced slightly from trying to wave with one hand. Grant smiled and returned the gesture. Ellie finished serving a middle aged couple and jogged over to Grant's table.

"Hi," she said, very friendly. "How goes it in the badlands?"

"Not good, actually. We've got a busted computer."

"Oh yeah? What kind?"

"The hell if I know." Grant grumbled.

"Well, what can I get you to drink?" Grant ordered a beer and some random vegetarian dish from the menu.

When Ellie brought him the check, she asked him a few odd questions about working in the badlands. She seemed very enthusiastic about the whole thing. Grant learned that she was an all but dissertation in paleobotany ,and she'd come all the way from New York looking for a place to do post-doc in the Badlands. That's the kind of person you could get to envy, Grant thought.

Alan Grant's rusty colored pickup truck pulled into the coordinated dirt that constituted as his driveway. Before he even opened the door to his small trailer home, he heard the phone ring from within. He hurried inside, and answered it. It was late to be getting a phone call.

"Alan Grant."

"Yes, Dr. Grant, I don't believe we've ever met. This is Donald Gennaro, Mr. Hammond's lawyer." The voice on the other line was clear and deep. An expert manipulator, Grant expected.

"I believe we've spoken before, Mr. Gennaro."

"Yes. I asked you to conduct a paper for Mr. Hammond-"

"I remember, Mr. Gennaro."

"Well, today was the day we suggested things be wrapping up, and I just wondered about how far along you were in this..."

"It's," Grant glanced at his watch, the hands hard to see in the dark light, "Ten-thirty one, Mr. Gennaro. I don't know anything."

Gennaro sounded disappointed and exasperated when he said finally, "Thank you for your time, Dr. Grant."

What the hell was so damn important about this paper anyway? This was the _third _odd paper he'd had to write since working under Mr. Hammond's funding. All of them on extremely specific topics, like skin development on infants, or urinary habits. As if anyone knew much about that.

Grant sighed, and reclined on his dusty couch. He hated working for the money men.


	2. The Money Men

THE MONEY MEN

John Hammond, a tall, exuberant man of seventy five, sat in a wicker chair on the third floor of Cowain, Swain, and Ross, reading an article about a couple of field botanists who'd discovered a plant that had supposedly been extinct since the cretaceous period. Hammond knew that even dinosaurs, in their own way, still remained; crocodiles, snakes, hell, even birds. But Hammond wasn't entirely convinced, even through all of Grant's insistence, that dinosaurs had evolved into birds. In fact, he had his own theory about cockroaches containing pieces of dinosaur DNA, but that was his own-

"Mr. Hammond?" A young man in his early twenties announced himself. "I'm Donald Gennaro. I'm here to speak to you about the financing of your park."

"Gennaro, yes!" Hammond said eccentrically, standing and shaking the man's hand vigorously. "I've heard so much about you from your advisor, what's his name? Ah, yes, John. That's my name, you know-"

"Mr. Hammond, we're extremely excited but also extremely concerned about the nature of your park, sir. We want to confirm that this is strictly animatronics, correct?"

"No, no, not at all. Who the hell wants to see animatronics in the year 1990? No, no, I mean the real thing. Gennaro, this is the opportunity of a lifetime."

Gennaro and Hammond began walking down the long, drab hallway lined with offices.

"What exactly do you mean? How can they NOT be animatronics?"

"That's the beauty of it, really. I want the park to be as authentic as possible."

"With what, Mr. Hammond, is the question here."

"Yes, I realize that, of course. But we don't _know _yet."

"Mr. Hammond, you're requesting three million dollars as a start; how can you _not know_?"

"We're working on it. I've got John Arnold, a computer specialist, and Robert Muldoon, I don't know if you've heard of him or not, but-"

"Mr. Hammond, we're going to need to see more of this project to believe it."

"Well," said Hammond, leaning on his walking stick, "Then I guess you're just going to have to see it."

Returning to his spacious office on the second floor of the law firm, Donald Gennaro was shocked. How had a prestigious name like Cowain, Swain, and Ross been dragged into a sham like this? Hammond's motives were completely unknown, and even the nature of the park was still a bit of a mystery. Gennaro sighed. Hammond was a big bit of business around here, and it would have been hard to turn him down. He could, however, turn him over to another investor. If things got bad, which he suspected they might, he didn't want to be there to see it happen.

Gennaro was about to try and do just that, when his phone rang.

"Donald Gennaro, Cowain, Swain, and-"

"Yes, yes," A gruff voice on the other line said. "I know all of the fluff. That's why I called you, damn it."

Gennaro was taken aback. "May I ask who's speaking?" he asked, politely.

"Muldoon, Robert Muldoon. The game warden for Jurassic Park."The voice was slurry, and mean. He sounded drunk.

"_Jurassic Park?_ What are you talking about?" He had to be talking about Hammond's park, but this was the first time he'd heard a name.

"The park, y'know. _Hammond's _park. _You _know. Anyway, I need to ask a bit of a favor of you."

"Yes?"

"Call Grant. Ask him if he knows anything about the urinary habits of raptors." Gennaro heard something in the background, something like an owl or maybe it was a car trying to start. He couldn't tell.

A loud _thud!_ came from Muldoon's end, and he grunted. "Very sorry, chap. Have other things gnawing on my mind at the moment." With that, he hung up.


	3. Life On the Edge

LIFE ON THE EDGE

'_Researchers discovered a simple set of three equations that graphed a fern. This started a new idea - perhaps DNA encodes not exactly where the leaves grow, but a formula that controls their distribution. DNA, even though it holds an amazing amount of data, could not hold all of the data necessary to determine where every cell of the human body goes. However, by using fractal formulas to control how the blood vessels branch out and the nerve fibers get created, DNA has more than enough information. It has even been speculated that the brain itself might be organized somehow according to the laws of chaos.'_

Ian Malcolm put the article down. People treated chaos like it was a tool, wheedled it like a knife, but, in fact, it was a simple theory; an idea. Well, perhaps calling chaos _simple _was like working with fractals; the more general you get, the more the idea broadens. You can twist an idea or theory beyond recognition. It's easy. Just look at The Butterfly Effect. A goddamn movie about time travel! Chaos may be a pretty word, but people have to stop treating it like that's all it is.

Ian Malcolm's cell phone rang. He punched the 'send' button, and put his mouth to the receiver. Looking over at his bed table alarm clock, he saw 2:00 AM in bright red letters. _Damn_, Malcolm thought.

"Who dares disturb my slumber?" pondered the thirty year old mathematician, into the phone.

No answer. And in a second, Malcolm heard a dial tone.

Oh, well. That was the thing about life. Life on the edge of the giant cliff of chaos. Everybody keeps falling off.

MONTANA

Grant was not obliged to stay at the meeting this particular Monday, as he had quite a bit of work to do back at the dig. So he decided to skip it altogether. Once a month or so, Alan usually took a trip in his old Chevy truck, (called 'Le Truck' by graduate students because it broke down every few miles), all the way around the dig site and surveyed any damage unknowing students might have done. Usually there wasn't too much; sometimes nothing, but it was necessary work.

One time, a couple of years ago, Grant remembered coming across the excavation of a hadrosaur nest where one of the students had made a mistake. There was a fracture in the bone, and it had been unattended. (This may seem mundane to the untrained paleontologist, but when fossils like that are unattended, the consequences can mean going from a complete skeleton to a fractured one.) When you came across a fractured bone, you were supposed to apply adhesive immediately (there were special pastes, but Grant swore by Elmer's Glue). It had annoyed him that one of his post docs had made such a horrendous mistake, and the said person was quickly quitted from the student body.

Grant climbed into the old Chevy, and put the key in the ignition. The vehicle hummed, then died. Grant sighed and tried again, with more success. He hit the clutch and put the truck in first, jolting off of the dirt driveway and into the parched Montana earth that constituted as a road everywhere in the Badlands, making all drivers out here be extremely careful.

Grant drove all the way around the sites close to the trailers before going out to Sites E and F, about five miles from there, on the side of a steep dirt ravine. They'd wanted to flatten the space out, and give themselves more working room, but the damn ecologists said it would be far too damaging to the earth around the area, causing erosion and chaos.

Alan Grant approached the ravine, about twenty feet away. He moved off of the clutch to press in the brake. Nothing happened.

Ten feet away, Grant could see the ravine, an open hole waiting to suck him in. _Damn this truck!_ He swerved sharply to the right, away from the ravine.

The truck was still. Grant let out a long breath and moved to open the door and get out of the truck. Then he felt the truck move. _The dirt was giving way._ Grant tried desperately to get out of the vehicle, but he felt another jolt, as the truck slid farther, this time on such an incline that Grant fell backward, knocking himself against the passenger window. His face pressed uncomfortably to the glass, Grant could see the menacing sharp rocks below, at the bottom of the ravine. He braced himself as the dirt completely gave way, the truck spiraling down to the sharp rocks. Grant covered his head for the impact.

Then the world became totally dark and silent.


	4. Ravine

ELLIE

Ellen E. Sattler picked up her coat and turned off the last of the lights in the restaurant. Phipher waved at Ellie, hurriedly grabbing her own (more expensive) coat, and walking past Ellie to the door. "Night, Ellie," Phipher hummed.

"See you, Laura." Ellie walked out of the door, and locked it behind her. She sighed. A few feet in front of her was the person she _least _wanted to see right now. Jack Reiman was studying physics at the University of Chicago. He was known as one of the most brilliant and annoying people in science today. He was just a recent Ph.D., at 30, but his reputation traveled. He was in Montana doing some kind of field work that Ellie didn't care to know about.

"Ellen! Hi!" Reiman approached her, hand outstretched to shake hers. She shook his hand, and whispered, "Hi," moving out of his way.

"Listen, are you off work already?"

"Jack, it's ten at night." Ellie didn't really want to have this conversation. Reiman had a serious crush on her. Or something like it, because he kept asking her to go out with him. She had accepted once, and had a fairly good time, but she was tired-

"Well, I was just wondering if you had had anything to eat yet..."

"Jack, I work at a restaurant."

He tried a different approach. "Here, I'll walk you home. It's not far, and I've got nothing better to do. Did you hear about, oh, what's his name? Alan Grant! His newest discovery? Something about infants."

Ellie never missed a chance to convert non-Grant worshipers. "Alan Grant has been working specifically on infant dinosaur behavior for about five years straight now. You must be talking about the new hadrosaur nest. There are dozens of them. About six years ago, he discovered a nest of hadrosaur eggs...overnight celebrity."She shrugged.

"You know a lot about this guy," Reiman said uneasily.

"Well, he's why I came here. I wanted to be on his research team eventually. Actually, I'm working on dissertation now. But when I finish, I'd also love to do post doc there."

"Does Grant do post docs-?"

"And graduate students," Ellie finished.

"Post doc, huh?"

"Yeah. Kinda silly, but there you go."

Reiman laughed. "Childhood dream?"

Ellie looked taken aback. "No way! When I was nine, I wanted to be an actress!" Reiman laughed harder, then said softly, "You would have made a great one."

"Why do you think?" Ellie asked seriously, "because I'm a beautiful woman?" Now it was Reiman's turn to be surprised. Ellen was a very blunt woman. "Well, yeah, I guess. But you also have an excess of personality."

Ellie laughed. "I don't think I've ever heard that term before. Excess of Personality. Hah!"

Ellie could see her apartment a little ways away, and turned to Reiman. "Do you do the late night coffee thing?"

Jack Reiman smiled. "I sure do."

RAVINE

Alan Grant slowly came back into consciousness. It was dark. And cold. He saw the truck. _The truck!_ That's right, he thought ruefully, I fell. For a full minute he didn't move, not believing this had actually happened. This had only ever happened to one of his students...a post doc. The kid hadn't survived the fall. It had to be the most dramatic thing that had ever happened on his dig. Grant groaned. His leg hurt like _hell_.

Still, he had to move.

Bad move, Grand decided, as his leg and body screamed in protest. He lay back down, and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

_No!_ Grant forced his eyes open, and put all of his weight on his arms, pushing himself up. He put himself in a sitting position, and lay back, gasping for air. Next to him, he could feel, was the door to the truck. He pushed on it. It opened. Grant rotated slightly, trying to see what he had-

There was no excavation. He could see the side of the ravine perfectly, and there was _no excavation. _This was not the right ravine. Great, Grant thought. The excavation was new, and Grant had only been there once. But how many ravines could there be in one badland? Grant remembered. _Hundreds_. Damn. Well, now he was not only hurt, but he was lost.

Well, only thing to do is get moving, he thought. He forced his legs around, on the outside of the truck, out the open door. He tried to get out, balancing on a sharp rock, putting weight on his good leg.

His foot slipped, and he stumbled, landing doubled over on a rock. The wind was knocked out of him.

But he forced himself up again. He lifted himself onto the ground, looked around, then started walking.

CAR WHEELS

Terry James-Grant stared out of the little trailer window. She had expected Alan home much earlier than this. She glanced at her watch. It was already midnight. He should have been back by ten. Alan was pretty reliable.

She was so tired, though, it was hard to be worried. _He was always back by now. _That was what motivated her to get up from the chair looking out of the kitchen window, waiting for him, idly scribbling on her students' papers.

James was a tall, thin, stern woman of forty seven. She'd been a chain smoker since she was fourteen, and had was only trying to quit now. With little success. God knows, Terry thought, Alan wouldn't tell me to stop. Grant had never really minded her personal habits. That was the great thing about Alan. He didn't really judge people; he seemed, however corny it may sound, to see through people. Good or bad.

For example, Alan saw through the dusty, rocky regions of the badlands, and saw that it had once been a prehistoric paradise. Or something like that. James wasn't good with dinosaurs. Terry James had gotten her MA in inorganic chemistry from Tulane University, in New Orleans, where she'd grown up. James had then gone on to do graduate school and post doc in Alabama. She'd gathered a good reputation, and her first job offer had come from Montana State.

It was there that she'd met Alan Grant, then a young graduate student at Denver. She had been drawn to him immediately, to his extreme and vibrant contrast to her devil may care attitude. He was like a ball of energy, begging for a release; looking for someone to admire. Terry had become that person, as his thesis advisor and defender of his dissertation, later. Alan had gone to do post doc in Georgia, and hated it. So he took the offer to return as a professor to Denver.

When he returned, James and Grant had hit it off, this time more romantically. And after two years of continuous dating, Grant had proposed. They'd been uneventfully married for four years now.

James walked outside, and cursed. Alan had the truck. She couldn't decide if this was important enough to call the police over, and decided it wasn't. He probably just got a little lost. He'd be back before morning, surely.


	5. Dead Man

APARTMENT

Ellie Sattler stared at the ceiling of her little apartment, watching the little fan go in circles. Beneath the covers of her twin bed, she was naked. Beside her, Reiman snored softly, cutely almost. They'd gotten half way through coffee when Ellie decided that Jack wasn't a half bad looking man. Extremely tall and fairly thin, with slick black hair and a charming smile. So she had let him have the piece of her lonely life he seemed to want.

Well, he was pretty good in bed, if nothing else. No, he was a good conversationalist too.

Ellie sprang out of bed, not at all embarrassed by her state of dress. She searched through her drawers for something to wear. She had a student body interview today, and she wanted to look sharp. Or casual. You know, whatever Alan Grant's students wore in the badlands.

She heard Reiman stir beneath the covers of her bed. "Good morning, morning glory!" Ellie greeted him. She smiled broadly, holding up a pair of underwear over her nude form.

Reiman tried his best to show that kind of enthusiasm this early in the morning, sitting up in bed and putting on a crooked smile. "What're you all dressed up for?"

"Interview. For a position as a post doc with Alan Grant." She said, quickly plopping on stockings.

"Uh-huh. Is it out in the badlands?"

"Yup. Well, not at the actual site, but some buildingish thing out in the middle of nowhere."

"Uh-huh. Well, good luck," said Reiman, retreating beneath the covers again.

INTERVIEW WITH THE DEAD MAN

Due to ridiculously heavy traffic, Ellen Sattler arrived twenty minutes late for her interview.

She was thinking of a good excuse; (traffic was something no one went for these days), when she realized there were police cars outside of the building.

The officers got out of their blue and white cars, and walked over to Ellie. She decided maybe she could ask them for directions. This couldn't be it.

"Excuse me" She began. But she didn't finish. One fat, balding officer interrupted her.

"Ma'am, are you here for an interview with Alan Grant?"

"Yes, I was wondering where- "

"Then you came for an interview with a dead man. Alan Grant has been lost in the badlands for nearly ten hours now."

Ellie was shocked. They should at least have tried-

"But that's not that long!"

"It is...for the badlands. Go home, ma'am."

But Ellie didn't go home.


End file.
